Big Casino Magic
by Aspen-SiredBySpike
Summary: Greg finds himself back in the days of early Las Vegas where the mob is running the city and the glitz and glam rule the stage. While he eagerly throws himself into all the razzle dazzle, schemes run rampant and the mob is planning a hit to remember.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I took this down because there was a vast number of mistakes and I wanted to reword things a little. I'm reposting this, and chapter one, and the next chapter should be up in the next few days. I actually forgot about this fic for about six months. Hopefully a new chapter and a reworked begining will make up for that. Once again, the idea was basically a mix of "Kiss Kiss, Bye Bye", the time travel episode of "Boy Meets World" where the closet is a time portal, and "Chicago". Dunno why, it just came to me. Thanks again to Eleen for the original concept of "Greg should go back in time". Read and review? Enjoy!**

**P.S.- If you can review in Rat Pack Lingo, you'll get a present.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters.**

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**Prologue**

"Let her go, Rickard!" He threatened as he whipped his gun out of the back of his suspenders.

His eyes widened as he stared at the gun in surprise. Gone was his regulation 9 mil Beretta that he was given the day after he passed his final proficiency test to be put into the field. Held tightly in his grip was a Walther P38 pistol, straight out of the thirties. He wasn't overly fond of using guns, but in his mind, the Walther was better than the Beretta any day. Little good it would probably do against the Bayard semi automatic that was up against his friend's temple, but it was all he had; and in situations like this, he knew that he couldn't be fussy.

"I don't think so." The round man chuckled, wrapping his arm tighter around his prisoner's torso. She choked and spluttered from the lack of air.

He watched helplessly as she struggled in Rickard's grip. Her skin was quickly turning from it's natural pinkish tone to a sickening puce color. The doll's eyes no longer glistened like the desert sands; all hope had been washed away from them which left her looking doggish and beat. Her ankles were losing support, emitting tiny cracking noises as they kept turning over on her silver heels. When he first saw her, he thought they were shimmering with all of the glamour and light she showed the audience when she was on stage, a pair of Hindi diamonds on show for all to see.

However, during this whole ordeal, they seem to have dimmed to the point of no return. Their scuffed appearance matched his attitude and overall judgment of the situation at hand- Bombsville.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened his hold on the pistol and took a few short steps forward.

"Come any closer and the broad gets it." Rickard snapped, cocking back the hammer of his Bayard. "We've had enough big casino's for one night, don't you think? It'd be a shame if I had to send your little twirl to the grave. She's such a pretty thing. A rare find."

He gulped. He wasn't an 18 karat idiot. Before he ended up back in the beginning years of Vegas he could tell anyone who asked that in mafia slang the term "Big Casino" meant death.

It was apparent now, that he cared for the doll. Rickard see the sudden change in his young friend's exterior. He was frightened for the chick and would probably to anything to save her.

Oh well. Mercy wasn't really Johnny Rickard's style- or his boss'.

"Look her in the eye, Sanders." Rickard smirked, placing his finger over the trigger. "I want you to watch her brains decorate the ground. Then when I'm done with her, it'll be your turn."

With a nod of Rickard's head, men appeared from out of nowhere, surrounding the three of them. Gun barrels were pointed at him from every angle. One wrong move, and all hope of saving her was gone. One bad step, and bullets would begin to fly. One false turn, and they would both be done for.

And heaven knows that the last thing Greg wanted to do, was condemn her to death.


	2. Goodbye Kansas

**A/N: I know I could've posted this yesterday with the prologue, but I didn't want to. Meh. Chapter two will be up sooner than six months this time. I promise. Read and review? Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters.**

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**Goodbye Kansas**

"Still reading, Greg?" Sara smiled at the book in her friend's hand as she made her way into the locker room.

Without looking up for even a second, Greg nodded his head and muttered an "Uh-huh."

It was about an hour and a half before shift started, but Greg was already at the lab. He wanted to get right back to business and work on the Kiss Kiss case. He found it hard to believe that the lovely woman who had given him one of the best things in life- the book that was currently in front of his face, his eyes scanning every page carefully, making sure they didn't miss one single word -was now dead. Only hours ago he had been swapping snippets about her younger days with her in the presence of Grissom; what a joy that had been. He loved doing it, but it would have been better if Grissom hadn't kept shooting him glances like he was clinically insane. It wasn't his fault he liked the lingo from back in the day: It was far too motherly to ignore.

Greg sighed loudly. Lois O'Neil looked just as gorgeous in death as she had in life. He wasn't with Brass and Grissom when they came upon her body, but when her body had been taken back to the crime lab morgue, he wasted no time in going to see her.

Luckily he had gotten to her before Doc Robbins began to strip her and wash her down.

The crème colored dress was lacy and clung to her frame brilliantly. Her long graying hair looked elegant hanging loosely around her shoulders while the taupe colored nail polish on her long fingernails matched the eye shadow that covered her aging lids perfectly.

Her eyelids: the only thing that hadn't been perfect about her, Greg had noticed. When he had been inspecting her lifeless form, he realized that her eye shadow was smudged on both lids. The powder was looser near the lash line, suggesting that the smudging began at the top by the brow before leading downward.

At first he couldn't comprehend what would leave that sort of mark. It was obviously made by a finger or a handkerchief. Perhaps Lois had been touching up her make-up? The young CSI quickly dismissed this idea. A former copa girl would know how to fix her face without making a mess of it. Then the nutty notion came to him: What if it wasn't by her own hand that her make-up was ruined? What if her eyes were froze open when her lids were smudged? That would mean that she was already dead- someone had closed her eyes to the empty world around her.

Shaking his head, Greg brought himself out of the trance he had put himself into. He had been reading the same line over and over again for the past few minutes. He was pretty sure he now had the fact that Lois O'Neil had enjoyed her first kiss with Tony Constantine under the mistletoe at Dean Martin's Christmas party committed to memory.

"Greg? Hello? Earth to Sanders!"

Greg looked up to see Sara waving her hands in front of his face. How long had she been doing that?

"Huh?" He said absentmindedly. "What was that?"

"I said if you don't get out of my way, I'll be forced to bring out the mace." Sara replied hotly. Greg stared at her bewildered. Sighing, she pointed over his shoulder. "My locker, Greg. Get away from my locker."

Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that she was indeed right- he was leaning against her locker. He stumbled quickly away, knowing that Sara's threat involving mace would be followed through if he pissed her off enough.

Opting for a seat on the bench, Greg silently watched her tinker with the lock. It was apparent that things weren't going her way. A small smile made its way onto his boyish face as she started muttering curses under her breath. He had decided a long time ago that Sara Sidle was attractive, but now hearing her fret over a combination lock was just too cute.

"Stupid piece of metal. Probably has a child lock function for no reason at all. When they put in these stupid hunks of junk you would think the lab would spring for the locks that come with their own personal keys- Ah!" Sara shrieked, pulling her hand away from the lock.

"What? What's wrong?" Greg asked, dropping the book to the ground as he jumped up to her aid.

"The lock…" Sara said, shaking her head before fixing her gaze on her hand. "It shocked me."

Chuckling, Greg said, "Sara Sidle has been shot at, attacked by a psycho in an asylum, and was just steps away from being in a massive lab explosion, and she screams over a tiny _shock_?"

Breaking her eyes away from her hand, she looked up at Greg.

"It wasn't like the normal shock you get from sliding your sock feet across the carpet before touching someone, Greg. It was more… electrical."

"No way. You can't get an electrical shock from opening a combination lock." Greg replied, glancing from the locker to Sara's face. He realized her eyes were no longer on him; they were back to examining her hand. "Could you?"

"Nick mentioned last night that he got a shock off of his locker and said it felt a little off." Sara's voice was detached as she raised her hand closer to her face. "At the time, I didn't believe him."

"Who would?"

Greg reached out and took her hand in his two, bringing it up so he could get a good look at whatever she had been staring so intently at. He could see no incriminating marks on her palm or fingers- no scratches, no burns. Her skin was pink and bare.

After a moment, Sara gently tore her hand out of Greg's. She was eyeballing him in a way he wasn't used to, nor fond of. Her dark eyes were a blank slate, conveying not even the smallest touch of emotion. It was only when she began to speak that he noticed she wasn't her normal, collected self.

"Well, I think I've spent enough time hanging out with a bunch of metal boxes for one night," She began, her voice shaky as she slapped her hand against the set of lockers behind her, "I'm going to go and review some of the photo's you took of our scene before shift starts."

"Um… alright." He said awkwardly as he watched her remove her corduroy jacket and slip it into her locker before shutting and locking it back up.

"I'll see you later, Greggo." Sara smiled shortly before turning and jogging away.

Greg stared after her, his eyes glued to the empty doorway.

"Well, that was weird." He whispered, wondering faintly if it was something he said.

Sliding his cell phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen and realized that since he arrived at the lab he had wasted a little over an hour in the locker room. Shrugging, he picked his book up of the bench and turned to his locker. He didn't have to go far considering it was only four down from Sara's. His fingers made fast work of the lock. Right to twenty six, left to nine, and right again to twenty one. The lock fell open. Taking it off of its hook, Greg encased it in his palm while his fingers reached up to open the door. It didn't budge.

Frowning, Greg pulled on the door again; this time, a little harder. The door still didn't move. Sighing, he dropped the lock and book back onto the bench before banging his fist against his locker door.

Upon realizing that it was still stuck shut, Greg backed up a little, groaning deeply. With one swift high kick to the middle of the locker, the door swung open. Grinning at his good work, Greg picked his book back up and slid it onto the shelf next to a stack of CDs. He threw a quick glance up to the hooks, making sure his fedora was in its proper place. Grissom would kill him if he wore it around during shift.

After removing his iPod from his inside jacket pocket, he placed it neatly on top of the CDs before shutting the door. Reaching for the lock, he shoved it back through the islet and snapped it shut.

"Ouch!" Greg squealed, tearing his hand away. "What the hell…?"

There was no doubt in his mind, he had been shocked. And it felt electrical.

Greg glared at the locked before turning his gaze down to analyze the damage done. Like Sara's had been, his hand was unmarred.

"This is going to be a weird night, I can tell already." He mumbled under his breath. Throwing a glance back at the lockers, he made a short mental note to remember to tell Grissom about the lock shocking him. Not that his supervisor would believe him, even if he had Sara and Nick to back him up.

As he neared the door, Greg thought he heard the soft notes of a piano floating on the air. Shaking his head, he pushed the notion to the back of his mind; there was no way a piano would fit in the lab.

Shrugging, he continued on his way through the doorway, making his way into his workplace for the night.

Not a step past the doorway, Greg's eyes grew wide with the sight before him.

"No way…" His voice trailed silently off as he looked joyfully upon the vision had haunted his dreams every night for months.

"Greg," He spoke softly to himself, "I don't think we're in the lab anymore."


End file.
